


Such Is the Flow of Fate

by blue_pointer



Series: A Study in Gold [4]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Adopted Children, Angst, Ank'Harel, Canon Non-Binary Character, Episode: c01e038 Echoes of the Past, Feels, Gen, Gilmore patron saint of strays and bumblefucks, Homesickness, Loneliness, Metallic Dragon!Gilmore, Minor Shaun Gilmore/Vax'ildan, Post-Break Up, Reminiscing, Storytelling, Uncle Gilmore, Wistful, j'mon sa ord - Freeform, mixed messages much?, not she or he, when bae makes you miss your ex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:55:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26453725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_pointer/pseuds/blue_pointer
Summary: In which Vax is a fucking idiot, and Gilmore gets the blues."Well, I certainly appreciate your honesty. And I would be lying if I didn't say I was a little disappointed...Perhaps our paths aren't meant to be quite so entwined..."
Series: A Study in Gold [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906693
Comments: 8
Kudos: 44





	Such Is the Flow of Fate

Generally, after the one you love tells you that they love another, they do not kiss you hard enough to get the blood rushing. Gilmore sighed as he slowly made his way back toward Abdar’s Promenade alone. He supposed it was no more than what he deserved for stalking Vox Machina to Howarth’s tonight. He’d just missed them so--all of them, in fact--but Vax’ildan particularly. 

They’d been back in Emon for more than a day without coming to see him. And he was worried, not just because of the talk at court, but because--in spite of the head start he’d given them in Whitestone--they’d stayed away for more than a week. Gilmore had hoped at least to see his beautiful boy during Winter’s Crest, if not spend some of the holiday with Vax.

Well, this is where impatience got him. There was no fool quite like an old fool, Gilmore mused. He paused for a moment at the street corner and withdrew the flask hidden up his sleeve. There was not enough drink in the world, he thought, to take the edge off this particular sort of pain. For this was the beginning of the end. It was not yet **quite** the end; Vax had made that abundantly clear with his kiss good-bye. But still. It was the start of exactly what Gilmore had been dreading for weeks. 

Nothing was permanent. That was the one constant that could be relied upon. This brief candleflame of passion between Vax’ildan and himself would not grow into something more after all. It was simply not meant to be. 

How many times had Gilmore repeated words exactly like this to himself through the centuries? But it got no easier with practice. He looked up at the stars, just barely visible beyond the lights of the city. The night sky was comforting; though it changed throughout the year, it was always there. In its cycle, always the same. So Gilmore wasn’t entirely alone. 

He raised his flask to the stars in a toast before bringing it to his lips. As he took a sip, Gilmore heard a muffled step in the nearby alleyway. Apparently he was not to be left to mourn in peace tonight. The daggers that followed a moment later bounced off of Gilmore’s shields and clattered to the street. He bent to retrieve one of them--the blade that was not poisoned--and offered it, hilt first, to the figure hovering in the shadows. “I believe you dropped this.” 

They ran, abandoning their blades, and Gilmore let them go. Emon was not a state subject to divine justice as Ank'Harel was. Crime could be found literally anywhere here. The thought made Gilmore a little homesick. But he did not hold it against his would-be attacker. Everyone had reasons for what they did. 

A tug at the hem of his robe drew Gilmore’s attention to a small girl who was looking up at him with the tragic expression of a child who has been left behind. “What do you need, _habibti_?” Gilmore asked, kneeling down to her level. 

Her large, dark eyes just watched him, uncertain. “It’s far past time for little ones to be in their beds,” he said. “Are you hungry?” He magically summoned a pastry from the baker’s down the street, offering it to her. Though she still looked scared, the child snatched it out of his fingers and gobbled it down as though he might take it back if she did not. 

“Ah, I see. Come along, little one.” Gilmore scooped her up, ignoring the protests of his lower back, and carried her back to the Promenade, where street vendors continued to serve the immigrant working class of Emon throughout the night. Carrying her from stall to stall, Gilmore bought two of everything she pointed at, and then set out a feast beneath an ornamental fig tree within view of his shop. There was just enough room for both of them to sit on the blanket Gilmore kept in his satchel of holding. 

He watched her quietly as the child ate nearly everything, clearly starving. “Slow down, sweetling, you’ll make yourself sick.” Gilmore reached out to smooth the baby hairs away from her face, wondering just to whom she belonged. “Did I frighten them away?” he asked. “They left so fast, they forgot about you, is that it?” 

The little girl stopped eating and offered a small shrug, looking miserable. From the state of her hair and clothing, her guardian clearly needed the money they would have earned from robbing him. If they’d only asked, Gilmore would have given them his purse. But that involved a different sort of sacrifice, and loss of face. It was much easier to take than to ask, Gilmore knew. 

“Well, we’ll find them. Don’t worry,” he reassured her. Children made Gilmore nostalgic. They could be lovely when they belonged to someone else, and you had the option of giving them back to their parents when the loveliness wore off. 

The little girl continued to eat more slowly, unperturbed by Gilmore touching her hair. So he withdrew a wide-toothed golden comb from one of his sleeves and began to detangle and oil her neglected curls. “I had a little one like you once,” he told her. “She liked me to tell her stories this time of night. Would you like to hear a story?” 

Her little face tipped up to look at him, mouth smeared with rose syrup, waiting expectantly. Gilmore touched her chubby cheek and gathered her into his lap so that he could braid her hair. 

“This once upon a time,” he began, “takes place far, far away in a land of endless sand dunes and hot winds. By day, it’s quite unbearable, but under the gentle gaze of the moon, the sands become luminous and magical, and the starry night sky is like indigo velvet strewn across with diamonds so close it feels like you could reach up and catch them in your fist. 

“Long ago in this distant land, there lived one so beautiful that the desert would bloom with flowers wherever they walked, and water would flow fresh and sweet wherever they lay their head to rest in the heat of the day.” 

“A princess?” the child guessed, speaking for the first time since Gilmore had found her. 

“No, little one. Neither simply princess nor prince, but something more than both, and so beloved by anyone who laid eyes upon them as to inspire whole cults of devotion. And rightly so. For they were more lovely to behold than the moon, and more radiant than the sun. 

“In their favorite place to rest, an oasis sprang out of the hot sands, and those who worshiped the beloved built there a jeweled city of pure devotion. Its walls were carved of pure white marble 10 times taller than a man. The streets were paved with garnets and hung with beautiful multi-colored silks that danced in the wind. The inner walls were tiled in brilliant mosaics, and each district assigned its own gemstone color so that the city was always vibrant, always moving, like a living work of art. 

“In the center of the jeweled city, the devout built for the beloved the largest temple known to man, made of lapis lazuli and gem-cut aquamarines, amethysts, and sapphires. Stair upon stair upon stair led up and up to the temple of the beloved, for the devout had constructed it at the very highest point in the city. The temple doors were taller than three men, and built of turquoise lined with copper. The dome was pure gold, reflecting back the desert sun, and deep within it, through graceful pointed archways and miles of cool black and white marble floors, lay the sahn. Its central fountain was wider than a house, and tiled with green and blue turquoise laid out in the most spectacular design. Around the ever-flowing waters, the devout planted a sumptuous garden of fruit trees and tropical flowers to please the eye of the beloved. 

“And towers...what towers they built in the temple! Each cut from precious gems of a different color, reaching straight up into the sky, one taller than the next taller than the next. They cast for the beloved a throne of polished brass and sapphire. It shone like a peacock’s tail, encrusted with emeralds, amethysts and aquamarines. And they placed it in the tallest jeweled minaret in the temple, high above the clouds, so that from their throne, the beloved could look out over the desert in every direction.”

“So they made him a king?” the little girl asked, looking back at Gilmore as he finished off one braid with a heavy gold bead from his purse.

“They could no more be king or queen than they could prince or princess,” he said. “But seeing how well the people loved them, the beloved came to dwell in the city that had been prepared for them, and swore to protect it and the devout for all time. United in devotion, the people called the beloved _J’mon Sa Ord_ , the Soul of the Jeweled City. 

“The beloved's city became a beacon in the desert, and travelers from far and wide came to see its wonders and to seek justice from the Soul, who judged all things fairly and maintained peace and order in the city. But over time, as the city prospered, a great evil in the wilds of the desert grew jealous of the Soul and their worshipers, and sought to take or destroy what they had built…” 

As Gilmore spun the tale of the Jewel of the Desert, he felt his heartache begin to lessen, and breathing came a little more easily. Maybe it helped just to tell the tale, for he had not recounted it aloud for many years. Or maybe it helped his heart to recall another flame that had once warmed it, one which had burned much more brightly. 

He was not halfway through Thordak's onslaught of the city when Gilmore looked down to find the child had made a nest of his robes and fallen fast asleep. He took her carefully in his arms and walked home. 

Hearing him enter the shop, Sherri leaned over the second floor balcony and squinted down at Gilmore, her glasses still on the bedside table where she’d left them. “Oh, Master, not another stray?” she said in dismay. “You can’t keep adopting people like this.”

“Her mother should be here later this morning,” Gilmore said, laying the child gently on a pile of carpets and tapestries that were for sale, and tucking her in. 

“She’s so small,” Sherri observed, coming downstairs. “Where did you find her?”

“It’s a long story,” Gilmore said, going to fetch some tea. “You can go back to bed. I’ve got things handled for now.” 

Sherri started to obey, and then paused, looking at Gilmore closely. “Sir, did something...happen?” 

“Nevermind, dear,” Gilmore reassured her. “All is well. Glorious, in fact, as it should be.” Sherri’s eyes narrowed a little, but she did go back upstairs. 

Gilmore made tea and sat, watching over the fawn-skinned little girl as she slept. It was funny, how such a little thing could change your entire mood. He still felt blue, there was no denying that, but Gilmore chose to see the best of things. He’d spent the night in pleasant company, and reminisced about home and love lost in times gone by. And Vax was moving on, looking to the future. Maybe Gilmore would play some small part in that future, and maybe he wouldn’t. He had no control over it, and so Gilmore chose to let it go. These skeins of fate were heavy, and not his to weave. 

*

In the morning, as expected, the girl’s mother came calling. For Gilmore was nothing if not identifiable throughout the city. “Please, my lord, I’m so sorry.” She bowed and scraped as though Gilmore would keep her child if she did not make proper supplication. 

“She was an absolute pleasure, I assure you,” he said, handing over the child in his arms who was sucking happily on jalebi he had bought them for breakfast. The woman received her no longer hungry child with a look of wonder at the girl’s newly-made hair. “But perhaps...don’t leave her with the father again while you work,” Gilmore suggested. 

The woman shook her head firmly, a string of curses under her breath indicating the girl’s father was not out of trouble yet. With her daughter finally back in her arms, the woman began to back away. 

“Ah! ...I meant to ask...what’s her name?” Gilmore called out before they could leave the shop. It hadn’t seemed right to ask the child for something so important without her parents present. 

“Nafisa, my lord,” the woman answered with another bow. “And blessings upon you for taking care of her. Nafisa, what do we say?” 

“Bye-bye, uncle.” The little girl waved at him with one small, sticky hand, the other latched to her mother’s shoulder. 

“Goodbye, _azizam_.” And with that, they were gone. Gilmore would have invited them to come again, but it never sounded right for a single uncle to ask small children to come visit him.

“You always look so sad when one of your strays leaves,” Sherri remarked, coming to stand beside him in the doorway. 

“That’s because they all leave,” Gilmore said, feeling it on a deep emotional level. “Good night, Sherri,” he said, walking back toward his room. 

“It’s 10am, Sir,” she pointed out. 

“Be that as it may,” he paused in the archway, feeling tired down to his very bones. “I am done with today, and perhaps the next few days as well.”

Sherri nodded. “I’ll make sure no one bothers you.” 

“Please do.” 

“Sir?” She stopped him a second time, just as he was about to step through the beaded curtain. 

“Yes?” Gilmore looked back at her, one eyebrow raised. 

“Are you sure everything is alright?” 

Gilmore sighed. “I’m afraid everything is just as it was meant to be.” And with that, he retired for the evening at 10am. 

**Author's Note:**

> Does anybody really believe it was a coincidence that Gilmore just happened to show up at Howarth's that night?


End file.
